


Rekindling Christmas

by MaskofCognito



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Humor, Dean runs into every obstacle imaginable, Dean's excited for Christmas, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskofCognito/pseuds/MaskofCognito
Summary: Christmas is fast approaching. With a place to finally call their own, Dean wants to have a Christmas with a traditional holiday feeling, the kind he's only seen in movies. He and Sam deserve at least that much. But with zero experience decorating and celebrating holidays, Dean hits every obstacle along the way.





	Rekindling Christmas

This Christmas, things were going to be different. The Winchester’s had officially moved into the Men of Letters bunker, and for the first time in a very long time, they had a home. Well, Dean thought of it as their home. Sam seemed to still be a bit on the fence about that aspect, but Dean wasn’t going to let that deter his Christmas spirit.

He could actually feel the warmth swelling in his chest as he shopped for Christmas lights, ornaments, candles, and anything else that caught his eye. 

Dean’s excitement even had him hunting down places that sold real trees, garland, and wreaths. He picked out three trees because the bunker was so spacious. He decided to rent a truck to haul them, rather than risk scratching up his baby’s roof. Even with the truck, Dean ended up having to make two trips: one for just the trees, and another filled with garland. 

He left the trees and garland near the door instead of dragging them all the way inside, not wanting to leave his Baby unattended for too long. 

Dean drove the truck back to Uhaul to exchange it for his Impala. Baby was still full of all the other decorations he’d bought, and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in beat to Christmas carols as he made his way back to the bunker. 

Once he’d unloaded the Impala’s contents into the war room, all he had left to transport was the live pile of foliage near the bunker door.

Dean took a moment and just stared at the massive stack. He’d already run up and down the stairs more times than he wanted to count, and his energy was beginning to wane. The Christmas spirit he was so desperately running after—and using as a battery to fuel himself—was dwindling with the idea of all the labor required to enjoy the relaxing afterglow.

He wanted to move everything by himself so he could surprise Sam with the giant pile of Christmas excitement. Dean could just picture how it would all play out. 

Sam would get excited and start chattering away about different Christmas stories and how they rooted themselves in reality. Dean would roll his eyes, but be smiling and listening anyhow. They’d finish and Dean would make them both hot chocolate. He’d play some Christmas carols and they would relax, basking in their hard work at making their home environment the epitome of holiday bliss.

Unfortunately, reality hit like a ton of bricks. His thighs were already burning from the many jaunts up and down the stairs. The trees were not small, and the garland was abundant. He’d been so excited when he’d bought it all, he hadn’t given a thought to all the work needed when moving them inside. He obviously needed help.

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean yelled from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” Sam’s voice shouted back.

“You wanna help me with these, real quick?”

“What d’ya got?” Sam emerged into view from the library, coffee cup in hand. He stopped short as he took in the stack Dean had left scattered all over the table.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“Come on, Sammy. I need your help getting the rest of this stuff down there.” Dean waved him up the stairs eagerly. The thought of setting up the trees and decorating like a normal family in their own home was almost more than he could contain.

“There’s more?” Sam’s tone was weary, and Dean chose to ignore it.

Even with all his questioning, Dean watched as his brother set down his cup and climbed the stairs. Once outside, Dean presented Sam with the goodies he’d yet to bring down.

“Dude, what’s all of this? Why is there so much?” Sam’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as he took it all in.

“It’s Christmas! And we finally have a place where we can enjoy it.” Dean’s voice was filled with the buzz of excitement as he grinned down at all the purchases he’d made.

“This Christmas is gonna be awesome!” Dean added, landing a friendly slap on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam didn’t answer. He just quietly stared at the foliage in front of him. Dean didn’t understand why the air seemed to feel suddenly constricted.

“This isn’t our home,” Sam explained, using his hands to gesture at the bunker door.

Dean’s eyebrows drew together. “This  _ is _ our home now, Sammy.”

“No, Dean. It’s  _ not _ .”

“Yes, Sam. It  _ is _ . What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Dean smiled.

Sam glared at him. “Nothing.” 

When Sam offered no further response to his juvenile question, Dean couldn’t help but imagine Sam actually wearing panties. And though the thought would typically have him cringing, he suppressed a laugh with a cheeky grin. He bet they were pink and silky.

He wanted to tease Sam about it, but Dean took one look at his face and decided not to push his luck. He just wanted them to enjoy their time, decorating and relaxing into the Christmas spirit. 

It was a good thing he was learning to control his mouth with age. Dean certainly had fewer fights with his brother because of it.

While trying to calm his internal amusement at his own thoughts, Dean crouched and began to encircle one arm with spools of garland. He motioned for Sam to follow suit. He figured Sam would come around once they put up a few of the decorations together.

After gathering an arm full of pricking needles, Dean noticed a clear lack of participation from his brother. He stood back up and rose an eyebrow toward Sam. “Did you come up here to watch, or to help?”

Sam rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “Do you really want to celebrate Christmas the way normal families do? We aren’t normal. We aren’t even a whole family, Dean.”

The dreams Dean’s mind conjured—dreams of Mom, Dad, Sam and him all around a fireplace hanging their stockings—faded at his brother’s words.

Sam’s continued resistance was really beginning to get to Dean, and he decided he was done beating around the bush. The complaining wasn’t anything new, but his words cut deep. 

“Something’s wrong. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

Sam strode back and forth in front of the bunker’s entrance. He started running his fingers through his hair and abruptly ended his pacing. Grunting out something that sounded like frustration, he leveled with Dean. “We’ve always been on the move, Dean. Yes, we’ve stayed here longer than other places, but it’s only a matter of time.”

Sam started to use his hands while talking, letting them fly everywhere. He began to pace again, not even stopping to take a breath much less let Dean react to his words. “Soon enough, we’ll be on the road, moving from motel to motel again. I just don’t see the point in getting comfortable.” He stopped and turned back to look at Dean.

Dean watched Sam for a moment, letting the heaviness of his words penetrate the silence. “Okay. I get that. We’ve not had a home for a long time. Probably even longer than we can rememb—”

Sam scoffed under his breath, “Ya think?”

“—but this place is heavily warded. We’ve got tons of resources at our disposal. Nothing is getting in without our help.” Dean was trying to keep his tone light, clinging to the joy of the season.

“It’s been abandoned, Dean.” 

Dean telepathically threw happy thoughts at Sam’s face, but they were all bouncing right the fuck off. Sam must’ve created a Teflon barrier. 

“It makes me wonder what happened to the Men of Letters in the first place. Is this place really as safe as we think? What if there is a critical piece missing in all this protection? We could let our guards down, but for what? Because you think we can get cozy?” 

Dean sighed. He didn’t know how to answer those questions without irritating Sam more, and he was pretty sure his jolly mood was completely deflated now, anyhow. 

He scratched the back of his head and adjusted his feet. “Just, help me get all this into the bunker, will ya? I already bought it, and it’s all gotten this far. Might as well finish it. Maybe you’ll find your Christmas spirit, too. You Grinch.” 

He elbowed his brother, but Sam only muttered under his breath. Even so, he started grabbing garland and looping it around his arms. 

“That’s the spirit, Sammy.” Dean followed suit, picking up his fallen spirit as much as he was able.

It took both of them to get the trees down the stairwell of the bunker. Needles kept shedding from the branches and it started to make going down the stairs a tricky task without slipping. Sam nagged about it, and Dean promised he’d clean it all up on his own—no help needed.

 

Soon after everything had been hauled inside, Sam disappeared. Dean was explaining what he planned to do with all the garland, and when he turned around he realized he’d been talking to himself. 

He shrugged it off. Just because Sam didn’t feel like having the brother bonding moment Dean had planned in his mind this whole time didn’t mean he wasn’t eventually going to come around. 

Dean shed any negativity from his mood and wrapped his mind in the smell of pine and the image it brought to him of family Christmases. He was going to make the bunker look like all the movies he’d ever watched. The first step was to set up the Christmas trees.

 

Getting one tree into its stand was a chore. Knowing he had two more waiting for him and Sam wasn’t around to help made Dean’s temples start to ache. But Dean was a stubborn asshole and was not about the ask for help when it seemed Sam wanted to barricade himself in his room and be grumpy.

He figured out that by precariously propping chairs around the tree he could steady it while he tightened the screws on the base.

Dean imagined the tree toppling over on him and not being able to call for help. Maybe he should have asked Sam for help on at least this part. It probably would have been less distressing, no matter how grumpy his brother was about it.

Swearing time passed more than it actually had, Dean finally got the damn tree to stand on its own. He stood up and brushed off his arms and legs only to feel pine needles descend down his back from his collar. Grunting and yanking at his clothes, he attempted to free himself of the uncomfortableness. That’s when he’d remembered reading somewhere that real Christmas trees lost their needles when they were in need of water. 

In the kitchen, Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge. He’d probably need the Tylenol, too, if he wanted to get the rest done today. 

Dean’s mood was beginning to fall, and he decided music was in order. Music had the ability to help him forget his emotions existed. He never paused to speculate on its power. So, before he started his work on the other trees, Dean put on some holiday jams.

Foot tapping, hips wagging, and lyrics sung with high energy, Dean kicked off his boots and slid into the library with a pitcher of water in one hand and a beer in the other. Some of the water sloshed out the side, but Dean didn’t care. Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime was playing from his phone in his back pocket, and he got back to work.

 

After getting the other trees up, Dean was feeling better. Three beers in, he was full out dancing his way across the war room to grab more candles. He sashayed back to the library, placing them on the tables.

Dean opted to string the lights next. He pulled the first tree away from a corner in the war room and started moving around it in a circle, pushing lights into the foliage as he went.

Once he’d reached the bottom, he’d stepped back to admire his work. Frowning at the tree for its lack of majesty, Dean crouched to find the plug.

“Son of a bitch!” When Dean had wrapped the lights, he hadn’t really paid attention, and now he was paying for his mistake. The plug he needed was sitting up near the top of the tree. Cursing, he began unraveling his work to start again. He blamed Sam. If Sam was helping him, he probably would have caught from the beginning. His irritation increased and the feeling of betrayal returned.

 

Things were not going as well as he’d planned, but Dean pressed on. He was too stubborn to give up at this point. The music he’d chosen helped to keep his spirits up, and by the time he’d finished the lights for the second time, he was smiling again. He plugged the lights in and the tree shone brilliantly.

“Perfect.” He took a moment to appreciate his accomplishment. Just watching the lights glitter against the tree in stark contrast warmed him from the inside. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Once Sam saw this, he wouldn’t be able to keep up the Scrooge act.

“Now it just needs decorations. But first,” Dean mumbled to himself as he unpacked another string of lights. While he was on a roll, he wanted to string lights on the rest of the trees—lest he make the same mistake again.

All was well until he’d finished the tree in the kitchen and ran into a new problem. There were no outlets near where he’d set the tree up. Deciding he liked the tree’s placement too much to move it in a more convenient location, he embarked on a hunt to find a different solution within the bunker.

One extension cord later, and the tree was glowing warmly. 

He decided his next step was to hang the garland. Tackling the ornaments just didn’t sit right with Dean without Sam’s involvement. It seemed like a family activity, or at least that’s what Christmas movies had led him to believe. He could save that for last. And maybe he’d be able to convince Sam to come out of his room and help before then.

On the plus side, decorating the tree would surely be more fun than hanging garland. So he figured he’d let himself be spoiled near the end.

Dean gathered one spool of linked foliage and a box of lights. He unraveled the garland and began wrapping the lights around it, spreading his hard work lengthwise across the floor.

“You still at it?” Sam’s voice interrupted, and Dean looked up from his work.

“You thought I wouldn’t be? I’m a man of my word, Sammy. Just watch. When I’m all done, you’ll be feelin’ the Christmas spirit, too.” Dean grinned.

“Whatever.” Sam rolled his eyes and plodded toward the kitchen. When he returned he asked, “What’s a tree doing in the kitchen?” 

“There’s so much room in the kitchen, where else would you put it?” Dean nodded to the beer in Sam’s hand. “You gonna get me one of those?” Dean waggled his eyebrows.

Sam glared and stalked back to his room. 

‘ _ In due time, Sammy. In due time,’  _ Dean thought to himself as he considered where he wanted to hang the garland.

Shoving one of the chairs up near the archway leading from the main room into the library, and began hammering nails into the old bunker walls. 

He worked his way around the space methodically, occasionally swearing as he hit his finger. His poor thumb was going to be black and blue by this time tomorrow.

While he had always been great at working on cars, he’d never had the opportunity to see that skill expand into woodworking. His skill with the hammer was not up to par with his adeptness with a wrench, that much was clear. And bashing in creature’s skulls was not transferable to the small head of a nail, either. But even still, those moments of pain only happened a handful of times. 

When Dean had finished the supports, he grabbed the garland and carefully hung it on the first nail, and the next. Much to his frustration, the strands of lights and garland started to untwine at the other end. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grunted his dissatisfaction as he realized there was no outlet nearby. Again. He’d have to dig out another extension cord if he could find one, but he’d save that for later. He’d just gather however many more cords he’d need after he was finished. If he had to run back and forth each time he was too far from an outlet, his patience was going to rapidly run dry. As a matter of fact, it already was. He was inclined to say fuck the holiday and relax by cleaning his guns.

Stepping back to admire his work, Dean cursed. “Stupid... fucking...” He’d put the nails where he wanted the foliage rope to dip rather than lift, and the swags were uneven. He grabbed the chair and straightened it up a bit, but decided the nails were staying where they were left.

After a few more mishaps with the garland, Dean discovered a trick to keep the lights in place. He could use the twist ties that came off the garland and the lights to cinch the two together, especially at the ends.

“Finally.” Dean stood back to admire his work as he hung the last bit. He almost felt like giving up for the day and attacking the rest in the morning, but he shoved the feeling down. Dean still had enough umph in him left to finish up. Plus, if he finished it all in one go, he’d be able to just enjoy it later. 

Things were beginning to look up, and there wasn’t much left to do.

Dean was beginning to feel confident in his plan, again. 

Since adding the ornaments to the trees seemed to be more important than digging out more extension cords, he decided to concentrate his efforts there. It turned out to be fairly easy. Dean had always been a bit of an organizer, and the tree looked stunning in the war room when he finished it. 

Moving on to the next one proved to go just as well. That was, until halfway through when he realized he was going to run out of ornaments. Shuffling through all the boxes and empty packages in the war room turned up zilch. Dean had over-decorated on the first tree. He definitely was not going back to the store, so he’d have to come up with another solution.

Sighing, Dean shuffled back to the war room and removed more than half the decorations, adjusting the placement of the ones that were left to fill the holes he’d created. 

So much work had gone into that first tree, and he’d been so proud of the results. His whole body wracked with disappointment. He was beginning to wonder if all of this was a terrible idea. Everything he did seemed to go to shit. 

To prevent it from happening again, he separated the remaining decorations into two piles—one for each of the remaining trees. Even if they couldn’t be perfect, they would at least look decent.

 

Dean decided to take a break after he’d finished decking out the trees. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and slumped onto the bench at the kitchen table. Dean had paused the music on his phone, finding it irritating now that he’d put so much work into getting in the spirit of things. All the “joys” of decorating, had become a chore. Probably because he’d had to do it all alone. 

He heard a shuffling near the door and looked up as Sam entered. “Hey,” Dean mumbled tiredly.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice was entirely too merry, considering his previous attitude. He strode to the fridge and retrieved some eggnog—the only thing that had been in the bunker before Dean’s shopping spree that was even remotely holiday related. 

“I know what I said earlier,” Sam started as he poured the cream colored liquid into a coffee mug, “but it actually looks really good in here.”

Dean hung his head and chuckled a little. He heard Sam slide onto the bench opposite him. “I could have really used your help earlier. You don’t deserve to enjoy it after all the pain you let me go through alone. Bitch.”

Sam held up both hands in defense, “I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t one of my best moments. I’ll help you out with whatever else you might have to do  _ and _ it’ll be on me to take it all down. In apology.”

Dean just huffed at him, but he did notice Sam hadn’t replied with his usual  _ Jerk _ . “All that’s left now is plugging in all the garland lights. You can go dig out some more extension cords.”

Sam nodded his head and sipped his eggnog. 

Dean couldn’t help but make a face. “I don’t know how you can stand that crap. It’s too sweet.”

“Says the guy who can eat a whole pie and then ask for more. You don’t have much of an argument.”

“Hey!” Dean’s face scrunched up. “Not all the time.”

“Besides,” Dean nodded his head at the mug, “there’s no booze in that. What’s the point?”

Sam rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. They let the silence hang for a moment. 

“Where’s the music?” 

“Got tired of it ages ago.”

Sam chuckled. “Did you over do it? Are you done for the rest of the season?”

Dean rubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know. I ran into so many issues putting all this up. This was the first time I’ve ever decorated for a holiday. It’s not as glamorous as all the movies make it out to be.”

“Life never is, Dean.”

“Yeah. But I guess most movies make it a family event. They do it  _ to-geth-er _ .” He enunciated the separation of the last word with his hands.

“Right. I deserve that.” Sam finished his eggnog and stood up. “Where did you find the extension cords?”

“I found a few in one of the storage rooms. I’m sure there’s more, but they’re all spread out.”

“Show me. I’ll dig out what you need, and then you can plug them in and bask in the literal glow of your hard work.”

“Alright, alright. Hold on.” Dean chugged the rest of his beer first. He showed Sam where he’d found the others and didn’t leave the room without at least three coils of cords. 

They all plugged in without a hitch, and Dean was able to smile again, though he was still trying to recover his earlier joy.

When Sam returned with the last two cords, Dean plugged them in immediately. The last string of lights only lit up halfway. 

“What now!? I swear it can’t get any worse.” Dean grumbled as he went to inspect the problem.

Sam laughed from behind Dean, easily offering a fix. “It’s just a bad light, Dean. You should have gotten replacements in your boxes, right?”

Dean shoved a thumb behind his back, pointing at a table with a heaping pile of empty boxes. He heard Sam shuffling through them. 

If only his brother had been through all the fiascos Dean had—he was sure there’d be less laughing and more cursing.

“Got some.” Sam returned to his side and pointed to the dead bulb. “Throw that one away and replace it with this.” He opened his palm and the two replacements clinked together.

Dean obediently changed out the bulb and the lights sparked to life. He smiled, small and a little defeated. 

The more Dean examined the finished product, the more his grin started to slowly grow. He realized he’d done what he set out to do—all except the clean-up. The lights were all powered and lit. The glow and the fresh scent of pine combined and swelled in his chest. His spirit was back. Fragile, and still growing, but it was back.

The shrill sound of a high pitched alarm pierced the calm air and Dean stiffened. “Aw, hell! What now!?” He’d shoved himself to his feet and ran into the kitchen, right behind Sam.

His giant of a brother stopped in his tracks before the doorway to the kitchen, and Dean had to shove him out of the way so he could see what was going on. 

Castiel was stooping near the tree. His coat was off and he was using it to swat at an electrical cord that apparently had burst into flames.

When he saw them, he stood up—trench coat still in his arms but no longer flapping it around. “Hello, Sam. Dean. A fire started in your kitchen.”

Dean looked from Castiel to his coat and saw the flames light anew, the trench coat now acting as fuel. “Cas!” He shoved the rest of the way passed his brother and pushed Castiel away from the tree, extension cord, and his coat. 

“Sammy! Unplug the damn thing.”

He heard Sam reanimate behind him and move into action. Dean stomped on the coat to get the more flammable fabric taken care of first. He felt his socks heat and remembered he’d taken his shoes off earlier. “Someone get the flame to die on the cord. I don’t have any shoes on.”

Castiel brushed passed him and copied Dean’s previous motions until both fires were gone. Dean’s emotional threshold for the day had been surpassed long ago and he slumped to the floor.

“I’m done! I’m done with today! I’m done with Christmas...” His voice faded on the last line. All of his previous attempt to get back into the spirit had fled. He was exhausted. 

Castiel hovered nearby, awkward in his apparent need to console Dean but unsure how to proceed, as usual. 

The hush that had befallen them after Dean’s outburst was abruptly broken when Sam started laughing. Dean just stared daggers at him.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s,” Sam was laughing between his words. “It’s just… you were so gung-ho about Christmas and decorating and I was the miserable one.”

Another fit of laughter, albeit dying toward the end, burst from Sam. Dean’s eyebrows just drew together. He glanced to Castiel who looked perplexed. 

Sam evidently wasn’t finished, but the laughter was no longer there. “And now, I’m getting into the holiday spirit, and you’ve managed to lose yours. It’s like our roles have reversed. All because you decided to decorate.” Sam was still grinning like an idiot.

“Forgive me for wanting us to have a family holiday like we should have all along.” Dean’s voice was weak. He pushed himself up off the ground and stormed off.

 

Dean tried to calm down in his room. For all he cared, the rest of the world could go fuck itself. He took two more Tylenol and laid on his bed, arm draped over his eyes. The thrumming in his head increased in pain and frequency the more agitated Dean grew.

His brother couldn’t appreciate all the hard work that went into those decorations nearly as much as Dean could. Sam didn’t do any of the decorating. He’d probably only complain more when taking it all down. 

Though Dean’s thoughts continued to trudge on negatively, sleep was pulling at him, nagging him to forget the world and his woes. The darkness behind his eyelids slowly consumed him.

 

Whispering outside his door woke Dean, and he cracked his eyelids. He was groggy, but his headache was finally gone. Sam and Castiel were visible through the narrowly open door and were talking to each other animatedly. Dean was pretty sure they were arguing over who would have to wake him.

“What are you two doing?” Dean startled them with his sleep rusted voice as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up.

They stood up straighter, looking at Dean with the wide eyes of being caught in some act, and were silent. 

“What did you do?” Dean stood, voice and face inlaid with suspicion. He opened the door to his room all the way. Immediately, his expression melted from distrust to awe. He was awash with the feeling of home, warmth, and family. 

Sam and Castiel had taken the time to build upon Dean’s earlier decorations. And they’d gone fucking nuts. The entire bunker was lined with garland now, though it seemed they decided to forgo adding more lights into the mix. Smart on them.

But there was so much  _ more _ . Dean couldn’t explain it. Tiny details were everywhere, and he wondered if Castiel had flown off and returned with handfuls of decorations at least a hundred times. 

Sam nudged his arm. “Merry Christmas, Dean.” He shoved a mug of hot cocoa in Dean’s hands and beamed.

Dean felt his own face split in two, and all the feelings he’d hoped the decorations would build within him ignited. His attention flicked to Cas. The angel’s face was spread wide with a rare toothy grin.

Sam nudged at Dean’s side, “Christmas movies while the chili cooks?”

“Hell yeah!”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone. I typed this up on impulse in two days. An amazing thank you to [OsirisApollo](archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo) and [NadiaHart](archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart) who both helped me every struggle of the way. I'm sorry I badgered you two incessantly. I'm pretty sure they never want to read this story again, seeming as how they (especially NadiaHart) probably read this a billion times already. At times, my wording is strange to others when it is not strange to myself.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this, and if you have please leave a **kudo, and maybe even a comment.**


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